Baby monster!
by Vomle
Summary: Sherlock as a baby in the caring of Mycroft And John after an accident fell place.
1. Chapter 1

John sat still. The hospital used to be a place where he would help patients get better with a lot to do, not merely waiting for one to wake up. John looked over at Sherlock, the small fragile body breathing with black small curls planted firmly as a glory at the pillow.

It had started 12 hours ago. A new case(obviously) and Sherlock had done his thing, providing a solution to the mysterious case. It had all leaded to a warehouse where the criminal(of course) was still at it. It had all ended in a chase and somewhere in the rubble, Sherlock had been pushed inside a machine. It was this machine they had come to destroy.

John looked over at Mycroft, sitting in a chair next to him watching his little brother. Quite not understanding the "how" yet, sat still and watched the bundle of curls sleep. Sherlock was adorable as a child. Really sweet and cute. Cuter than most children he'd seen.

The machine had changed Sherlock from being a grown up man of 35 to become a child at the age of 2. How this was even possible was out of Johns comprehension. The machine had somehow done it, and John was now watching a 2-year-old Sherlock. His first reaction was to shot the man in the foot, making an escape impossible. Then chain him to the table before ordering him to stop this(while waiving a gun which made the man pass out from fear). His second reaction was to call Mycroft and yell in the phone "GET YOUR ARSE OVER HERE NOW!" when the doors one the machine opened and revealed the toddler.

The two men sat at each chair in the room looking over at Sherlock, hooked up to machines. Mycroft, as usual, wore a suit and had his umbrella with him. He looked gravely concerned now, watching this small bundle of black curls in front of him. He suddenly stood up, walking over and let his hand slide through Sherlocks hair.

"You've slept long enough now, please wake up."

Both men eventually walked out to get some air and to fill in some papers.

"So, Mycroft, you should fill this in, ok? I don't know anything about allergies or anything and.. Father..? Who's gonna sign in as the father for Sherlock?"

"I'll do it. And it would just sound weird, Sherlock Watson.. "

"There's nothing wrong with my name, alright?"

Mycroft sighed and took the papers from John.

"He doesn't have any allergies, if you wanted to know."

"I didn't, but thanks. Now I know I can make any type of food and he can't blame it on allergies for not eating it!"

"A simple deduction tells me more about your cooking abilities than him not wanting to eat it…"

Mycroft eyed John before they both chuckled.

When delivering the papers, a nurse came up to Mycroft saying "his son" was awake. John, trying not to laugh at Mycrofts frown over being called a father in that manner, followed tightly as they walked toward his room. At entering, they both saw a small toddler smiling and fully awake and heard the words "daddy!" from the small child's mouth. Mycroft hurried to the child and lifted him from the bed, squeezing him tight.

"There there. Eh.. Daddy's here."

John realized that Mycroft surely resembled their father in such a way that the child couldn't see the difference. Sherlock made sweet babysounds while being in the hands of Mycroft and babbled incoherently.

"Couldn't he talk? I mean, he can't talk even though he's 2 years old?"

"Surprisingly no. Our father was teaching him both english and french and it seemed quite hard for him to separate the two languages."

"Huh, weird thinking about that when seeing him. I mean, as the genius at work."

"I know the feeling, but as a 2 year old he was extremely vulnerable, small, crying over everything, completely annoying when running all over and such and, I bet you didn't know this, he was still using diapers. He didn't see why he should go all the way to the bathroom, away from his toys, experiments, whatever it is he was doing when someone could easily just make it go away much faster than if he were to use the potty. At least, that's what he used to say. At age 3, our mother had had enough and refused. That was the first time Sherlock silenced himself for a week, not talking or doing anything to anyone else. I'm sure you have experienced the same?

"The "not talking to anyone" treatment? Oh, yes, firsthand! But I see. He was like a little baby until the age 3 and he became this genius we all know?"

"Basically, yes."

Sherlock continued making sounds, small attempts on talking perhaps John thought.

"Shall we get some clothes on you and take you home?"

Mycroft poked Sherlocks cheek. The toddler squealed and laughed.

"He shouldn't be moved from the hospital, Mycroft."

"Don't you think he wishes to stay at home instead of here? Even though he can't properly speak and analyze it, he still sees everything, you know."

Mycroft eyed John again.

"Probably yes. And when you're saying "home", you mean as in which home?"

"Your home, 221B Bakerstreet. And if anything happens, you're a doctor and can fix it!"

"I was an army doctor, not a child doctor. They are two different things, Mycroft. And why our flat? It's not child protective. AT. ALL."

"A doctor is a doctor. An adult has the same body as a child, we consist of the same things, do we not? And your flat because that's his home."

When saying the later, he turned to Sherlock and stroke his cheek again, making the child squeal of joy.

"That's true, but they are different anyway. If he gets ill, I'm not exactly the best qualified doctor to take care of him. Didn't you hear? Our flat is really not child protective. He'll get poisoned faster than I can make tea, for bloody hell!"

"John Watson! Mind your language!"

Mycroft put a hand on Sherlocks ear, even though the child didn't seem to notice any of it. He continued to look around and flailing his limbs.

"Sorry."

John looked over at Sherlock. God, he was so cute. Is it even possible for a child to look so sweet?

"Even so, I'm sure you're more than qualified to take care of my younger brother, even with my help. And I'll help you make the flat child protective."

"Thanks.. I guess.."

John stood there with a puzzled face, thinking of what Mycroft had just said. He had put so much trust in him that he was willing to let Sherlock(in this fragile state) in his care and, help him? Would that mean Mycroft would be hanging out at 221B the whole time Sherlock was like this? John sighed.

Suddenly, Anthea came in the door carrying a bag which she put upon one of the chairs standing next to the bed.

"Thanks Anthea."

Mycroft seemed indifferent and somewhat thankful at the same time. Is that even possible, John thought.

"Is this him?"

Anthea asked with a kind of puzzled and intrigued face.

"Yes. Isn't he adorable?"

"Oh my god! HE'S ADORABLE!"

It almost seemed as Anthea squeaked and held out her hands, as asking to hold him. Mycroft pushed him over into Antheas hands and she wrapped them around him, making so called "babysounds" to him. Though the child noticed the different and began to cry.

"Hush hush, it's alright."

"Want to come to daddy again?"

The child turned towards Mycroft with hands outstretched and Mycroft took him from Anthea again.

"There there. Should we get some clothes on you and go home? Hmm?"

The toddler nodded his head and clinged to Mycroft.

Anthea took out a white body and gave it to Mycroft.

"Shall we put this body on you now?"

Mycroft put Sherlock down on the bed before taking on the body. Anthea came over with some cosy white pants and a pair of blue, fluffy socks, all which Mycroft dressed Sherlock in. Finally Anthea gave Mycroft a blue jacket which made Sherlock look stuffed.

"He will still need that solution!"

John pointed to the cannula stuck in Sherlocks tiny arm.

"You see? That's why you're here! Now, can I just take it with me?"

"Sure, why not? Just take the whole world with you!"

Mycroft went over, taking the drug with him and John sigh. Loud and a bit theatrical.

"You do know I was just joking?"

"Well, I'm taking it with me anyway. And you're helping me."

"Sure, I don't have a choice, do I?"

"No."

Anthea opened the door where a child seat were firmly placed on the ground.

"Thought it would be safer if he was in a protective child seat than in your hands."

Mycroft simply nodded and kept going, with both Anthea and John walking fast behind him.

"Anthea, dearest, would you bring my umbrella with you?"

Anthea rolled her eyes, went back in to the room and grabbed the umbrella before running to them again.

"Thank you!"

The weather was cold when they finally came outside. The clock had only passed 22 p.m. and the sky was already dark.

Mycroft hugged Sherlock tighter and squeezed him to his chest to avoid the coldness creeping in on him.

They all sat in the car awaiting them and Mycroft put Sherlock in the child seat. All three was watching Sherlock and making weird grimaces to make him laugh.

When finally arriving 221B, Anthea told Mrs. Hudson the delicate situation Sherlock had gotten himself in and that he was currently unavailable. She did not mention that he now was a child, the exact child John supposedly was "uncle" to.

Upstairs, Mycroft and John settled in Sherlocks room, making sure the bundle of curls were warm and that the cannula still were in his arm.

John lay down on the bed next to him while Mycroft sat on a chair on the opposite side. They could both hear Anthea as she embarked on making the flat a little bit more child protective(like removing the head in the fridge) and was soon accompanied by Mrs. Hudson. No child should have to live in such an awful and dirty flat. "I have told Sherlock to clean up this mess so often but he never does!"

Mycroft then fished out a book from the bag Anthea had brought with her.

"My daddy assigned me to write about everything that occurred to Sherlock until he would start in school. At age 2, or 20 months as he is now, he slept really much, ate little and had so much energy which would explain the sleeping too much part."

"Give me that."

John continued to read from where Mycroft had stopped, trying to comprehend the writing of a 9 year old boy. He couldn't complain about the spelling, seeing there were no grammatical mistakes though the handwriting was a bit off.

"So I can expect him to be a wild, genius boy who needs his pacifier. I must regularly give him a bottle of juice as milk either makes him queasy or tired, check his nappy to see if it's wet. Making sure he's warm and doesn't get bored and most importantly, and I quote: To check for monsters under his bed as he's to tiny to do it himself?"

"That is a really important thing. And one more thing I forgot to write down as I was oblivious to it happening, he wakes up at night. He has a regularly sleep time: he wakes up at 7 am, sleeps again from 11 am to 1 pm. He then sleeps again from 5pm to 7 pm and goes to bed at 11 pm. But from 11 pm to 7 am, I'm not absolutely sure. But these times he sleeps by himself. Which is great for you!"

"He really is like a machine!"

"Really? I see him as a fluffy little monster!"

When saying that, he swooped down on Sherlock, tickling him, making the boy squeal of joy and flail his limbs.

The two men continued to talk and after a while, the clock ticked past 11 pm and Sherlock fell asleep almost immediately. Soon afterwards John too fell asleep, with his hands around the small creature, into the long night.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Oh, thanks for the feedback! So much fun:D

Sorry for the misspellings in the previous chapter, really sorry but meeh… Too lazy to do anything about them!

And yes, I know I've written both 2 year and 20 months. The most correct term would be calling Sherlock 1 and a half, but meeh.. Both ages fits, so yeah..

But anywhooo, I love feedback, so give me some feedback guys!

Chapter 2

John woke up to the sound of laughter and rolled over to look at the clock. 07:15.

So he hadn't been sleeping for that long. He rolled out of bed and went out to the living room. The place was completely clean and he saw a sight he'd never thought he'd ever see: Mycroft changing Sherlocks nappy.

John chuckled as he went over to the kitchen.

"Want a cup of tea, "daddy"?"

"Sure, "mummy". Will you also bring the bottle of juice?"

"Sure."

He could hear Sherlock still making a lot of "babysounds" and tossing his arms forth and back.

"Lay still, Sherly!"

John came over, sitting down in his chair and putting the tea cups and the bottle down on the saloon table, watching as the elder Holmes had to fight the younger Holmes' tiny legs to get the new nappy in place.

John sipped his tea while watching what seemed like an endless fight between the two before Sherlock settled down and began sucking his thumb.

"Hey, you want a bottle of juice instead?"

Sherlock nodded his tiny head and was provided with the bottle as he lay on his back on the couch. They could both hear the sucking noise who came from a happy Sherlock. Mycroft took his tea and sipped happily too.

"You didn't sleep tonight, did you?"

"No, why do you wonder?"

"You could've woken me up or something!"

"Why would I do that?"

"I don't know, change Sherlock perhaps for you? Seeing you had a struggle doing so."

"I can change my brother anytime and that wasn't that much of a struggle as it used to be. I can promise you that."

They both chuckled and looked over to the happy Sherlock, still laying on his back and sucking the bottle happy.

"Well, I need to get home and fix myself before work unfortunately. You can deal with him, right?"

"Yeah, he's only 20 months old, how "wild" can he be?"

"Oh, you'll see.. He can be… Wild.. Well, then I'll be going! See ya"

"Yeah, see ya!"

John looked over at Sherlock who looked equally curious at John. He put the bottle down, saying something completely incoherently for John.

"Now, what shall we do with you?"

"Maaaowwyee.."

"Ok… I think…"

"Gwee"

John went over and sat down in the couch putting on Sherlocks pants again. He immediately began kicking and screaming, waving his arms to.

"Doo Waaaaam!"

"Eh, what?"

"Doo WAAAAM!"

"Doo wam? Too Wam? TOO WARM? Oh, yes, of course!"

He took it off again, leaving Sherlock in only his white body. He rested his tiny feet at Johns right thigh as John immediately took up and started playing with. Sherlock let John cuddle his feet until he started tickling them. The child squealed before kicking with his feet again and waving his arms in joy.

"This was funny, eh? Theeen… What about this!"

Johns arms immediately went for Sherlocks belly an he tickled the child. The child immediately moved his hands to protect his belly, while squirming and wiggling and giggling like a maniac.

"!

The toddler squealed loud and cleared and manage to kick Johns jaw.

"Ooh, you've got strong legs!"

He stopped tickling and held a hand on his jaw.

"Owwiiiiieee?"

Sherlock pointed on his jaw as a reference to John.

"Yes, my jaw is a little bit owe! Now, do you want breakfast?"

"Owwiiiieieeeeeeee… Gweeeeeeeleeeeee!"

"I'll take that as a yes then! Oatmeal? No? Banana? Yes? Yes, then banana it is."

John got up and walked over to the kitchen, making his own breakfast before noticing Sherlock trying to slide down the couch. Not knowing how far down it was, he was still clinging to the seat whilst trying to get a safe landing for his foot. John hurriedly walked over, helping Sherlock down before going back to the kitchen, with Sherlock in full pursuit after quickly got a pillow and put it on one of the seats before lifting Sherlock up to sit on it. He'd never thought about it, but the child was really small to be 20 months old in comparison to the 6 foot tall man he usually would share breakfast with. When thinking about it, Sherlock was really thin to, around the chest/stomach.

He put down in breakfast and an empty plate in front of Sherlock and then pealed a banana for him. The child immediately knocked his hand on the banana, squeezing his hand shut making it split in half before licking his hand.

"Oh, Sherly. Do you want a spoon?"

"Bah!"

"No?"

"No!"

"Fine."

John sighed before he chuckled a bit of the sight in front of him. He should have a camera, recording Sherlocks behavior and show it when he would become normal. As the child continued to squeeze the banana in bits everywhere, John quickly went to the desk they had in the living room and opened a drawer, taking a camera out. He quickly got back and opened the camera.

"And action!"

"Baaaaaaahh.. Aaaahooo…"

Sherlock smiled and giggled. He giggled a lot, John thought. Suddenly Sherlock tossed the squeezed banana at the floor and began squirming in the chair while making whiny babysounds.

"Oh, Sherly. You're not supposed to toss the banana down at the floor, you're meant to eat it!"

"NOO!"

"No?"

"Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!"

"Fine. You want anything else?"

"Nooo!"

"Is no the only word you can?"

"Nooo!"

"Really?"

"Naaaaaaaaaaa!"

He squirmed more and wanted out of his chair(obvious to everyone) and John lifted him out. He took a new cloth and tried to get the squishy banana out of Sherlocks tiny hands. John went over to the couch again, putting Sherlock down so that he could flail his limbs or something. John looked over at the bag Anthea had brought with her last night. There was a big, fluffy blanket inside it. John took it out and spread it across the floor before lifting Sherlock down from the couch and onto the blanket. He could also see some soft teddies and 8 wooden squares with letters written on them. He placed them all out in front of Sherlock and he happily began toying with them all.

"There. Now you'll be preoccupied for a while, won't you?"

"Dseee!"

"See? See what, Sherly?"

The boy quickly got all 8 wooden cubes and began spelling something with them.

"Sherlok"

John chuckled. He could almost spell his own name as a 2 year old. That was impressive. He took up the last cube and placed the "c" in between O and K.

"Sherlock"

"sheeeeer…"

"It says Sherlock!"

"Sheeeeeeeer…rrr….loooooo…K!"

"Correct, Sherlock!"

"sheeer…lo..K!"

John chuckled some more.

"You really are a genius aren't you?"

"Whaaa!"

John smiled and began playing with a teddyfrog. Sherlocks small hand immediately began gripping for it and so the played for some hours. After Sherlocks "little" nap at 11 am to 1 pm, Anthea stopped buy with some more clothes and items which he could need. She hovered over Sherlock and squealed at almost every move he did.

"He's just so adorable! I could never imagine someone like him being this utterly cute as a little baby!

"He is. It is almost unthinkable when thinking on how eccentric he is and how.. Weird, is that an acceptable word? He acts sometimes."

"I have always known him as the man he is today, looking at this child I can't bear to think that we actually have to make him normal again."

"Hey! Don't say that. We would like to have the normal Sherlock back too!"

"I guess you would like to so you can buttrape him some more."

"HEY! Don't use such words in front of him!"

John immediately covered Sherlocks ears but the damage had already happened.

"Aaaa….p! Jeeeeiiiiip!"

"Oh, jolly God. See what you've done? Now leave before you do any more harm, please."

Anthea looked sad but did as commanded while uttering a "I'm sorry" plea to John.

John continued to play with Sherlock, saying many things to make him forget the word he just said. After many hours of playing, Sherlock seemed to get a little bit tired and to make him a little bit more awake, John thought of food.

"Now, who wants a bottle?"

"Meeee!"

Sherlock tossed his hands up in the air before quickly raising him self before falling down again.

"Owie!"

"Owie? Did you hurt yourself, Sherly?"

"Owie!"

John finished pouring juice in Sherlocks bottle and went over to see the bundle of brown curls on the blanket. Sherlock managed to get in an awkward sitting position, avoiding sitting on his butt.

"Did you fall on your bottom?"

"Mhm!"

John gave Sherlock the bottle before lifting him up, holding one hand under his knees and the other on his back, as to avoid touching his butt.

"Let's sit down on the couch shall we?"

He continued to carry Sherlock this way, even when he sat down on the couch he continued to carry Sherlock that way(bridal style!). He looked down on the small child who'd firmly placed both hands on the bottle and made sweet sweet sucking noises.

"You are really adorable. I wonder what made you the man you are today, when seeing this cute little baby you are now. And yes you are, you're my little baby!"

He squeezed his nose towards Sherlocks nose, making the boy squeal of happiness again. Whilst sucking the bottle, he made his un-comprehendible babysounds. John chuckled and held Sherlock hard. Whilst sitting there with Sherlock in his arms he suddenly heard some footsteps in the stair and Mycroft came quickly in the door.

"He's still alive, I see?"

"Still alive, yes. Wanna hold him?"

"No no.. Just came to check up on him. I were at the lab today. They told me it would take 2 weeks at least to make the machine work again."

"Oh, well, that's two weeks were we know absolutely everything about Sherlocks needs and whereabouts, won't we?"

The last "won't we?" John said in a childish voice towards Sherlock, making the boys eyes eagerly watch him.

"There were one more thing though."

"Oh?"

"Yes. They said he might remember."

"Remember? Remember exactly what?"

"His life, John… That his mind would become Sherlock again whilst his body is trapped as a 2 year old!"

"What? That would be a shock for him if it were to happen!"

"Exactly. So just, you know, make sure he's alright, okay?"

"Of course. Do you want anything, tea or something?"

"No no, I'm fine. You know what? I might want to hold him anyway!"

John chuckled and passed Sherlock over to Mycroft. The boy seemed indifferent as to whom was holding him as long as he could get to drink his juice.

"I'll make some tea anyway."

"Fine by me!"

Mycroft chuckled and caressed Sherlocks curls. The boy seemed so oblivious to everything around him. Mycroft checked the childs nappy, seeing it was in need for a change.

"Something wrong?"

"No no, just changing him."

"Watch out for kicking legs!"

"Oh, he has manage to plant a kick on you then?"

"Not purposely, no."

Mycroft chuckled as he saw John making the tea in the kitchen before giving Sherlock his full attention, once again.

John chuckled over Mycrofts vision of the perfect toddler. He had to admit though, what he had seen of Sherlock today really did make him the perfect toddler. He came over with the tea whilst Mycroft changed Sherlock. The child finished his bottle and began kicking his legs as Mycroft had taken the dirty nappy of. Sherlock also made whiny sounds and waved his arms around.

"What? Is there something you want, dearest?"

"Noooo! JEEEIIIP!"

"Jeip? Rape? RAPE!"

Mycroft glared at John.

"Anthea."

"Anthea?"

"Anthea."

"Anthea…"

Mycroft almost barked when saying her name.

The child continued to kick with his legs and wave his arms and Mycroft lifted him up and removed the body he was wearing completely. A naked Sherlock Holmes sat on Mycroft Holmes' lap, happy to get out of the body.

"Is he warm?"

"A little bit. Fever?"

"Yes, a slightly one. Should just put him to bed and let him sleep. The body may also be reacting to the change and so on."

"Perhaps. The clock is… Already 7 pm!"

"That settles it. Bedtime for the small ones!"

John said it as cheerfully as he could manage so that Sherlock wouldn't have a clue on what he were to do. Mycroft squeezed a new nappy on him(with great effort seeing as Sherlock had it put on unwillingly!) and John came over with a small glass of milk.

"Milk makes him queasy."

"Or tired."

"Most likely queasy."

"Or in this case, I'll bet on tired."

As they stood there arguing the boy became increasingly more and more tired before his head fell to one side and he slipped the glass, making Mycrofts left leg wet.

"Come here, shall I take you to bed? Huh?"

"Mhm.."

The sound was so sheepishly that John just cradled him a little bit and Sherlock was fast asleep in bed.

"See? Easy peasy!"

"What did you put in the milk?"

"Nothing. It's natural for kids to drink milk."

"Not for Sherlock. He's anything but normal, you know."

"Well, on the milk part, I'm sorry to say you've got it wrong. He's fast asleep in his bed and therefore I think you should go so that I can clean up this mess before tomorrow arises! M'kei?"

"Give him milk tomorrow and you'll see I'm right!"

"Gonna make him throw up just to prove you're right? Yeah, sure! Anyway, good night!"

"Yeah, good night. I'll pop by a minute or two tomorrow too!"

"FIne!"

*SLAM*

Mycroft had left and John quickly cleaned the flat and made preparations for the new day. He then went in to Sherlocks room and fell asleep next to him, caressing the toddlers hair


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Last chapter was horrible but oh well~~**

Chapter 3

John woke up at 7am and could see the little monster he'd put to bed wake up at the same time. The green sheepishly eyes blinked and he stretched himself before squirming a little bit. He then turned over to face John and stretched a hand out touching Johns jaw. Sherlock was muttering something along the lines of an "owie", but since it was really early in the morning, the sound he was making sounded like something completely else.

"Now, shall we start the day, hm?"

John lifted the little one out of bed and carried him in to the living room before putting him down on the blanket. Sherlock fell over immediately and smiled while laying in a pretty awkward position. That can't possible be good Jon thought.

"Banana and juice today too?"

"Ananana! Juuuuuuusy!"

"Banana and juice it is then."

John chuckled and looked over at the bundle of joy sitting and squirming on the blanket. He fixed the bottle really quickly before going back to Sherlock, now beginning to play with the cubes.

"Here you go, you little fluffy monster! Now, would you let me change your nappy then?"

The small boy shock his head and didn't want to accept the bottle. Instead he kept playing with the cubes.

"You writing something there?"

The cubes spelt out "Jon".

"Jon? John? That's my name!"

John chuckled. The boy really was smart even at a really young age and despite the lack of coordination he could see the boy sometimes had. John put the "h" where it was missing before seeing Sherlock satisfied enough to take up the bottle. He then proceeded to change his dirty nappy.

"You're 20 months old, still wears diaper and suck the bottle and you have major problems with speaking but you can spell peoples names. You really do see everything don't you?"

Sherlock squirmed with his legs and giggled. He giggled too much to be Sherlock, John thought. He was like that monster the kids on the clinic sometimes told about. No, wait, it wasn't a monster. It was a Pokémon.

"You little Gigglypuff!"

John said it in a childish voice and proceeded to tickle Sherlocks belly. The child suddenly tossed the bottle away before getting up and run away from John.

"Oh, wanna play now?"

The child laughed and ran around the couch while John played happily with him. After a while, John caught little Sherlock and began to blow on his stomach which made the child cry from joy and happiness.

"Now, you want that banana?"

"Ananana!"

John chuckled again and lifted Sherlock over to the blanket before putting on a new nappy and getting the banana. He came back to see Sherlock already spelling a new name with his cubes. "My".

"Mycroft?"

"Mycof!"

John chuckled and pealed the banana before feeding it to Sherlock, trying to avoid to have him smear the banana everywhere like last time. The small toddler opened his mouth and gave John a curious look. John inserted a bit of the banana and Sherlock chewed it. He looked so happy and sincere in this state. Not bored at all and at least did not remind him of how his flatmate usually behaved. John had to chuckle. This child did not seem like the Sherlock he knew at all. It was only his curls that had the same resemblance otherwise there weren't the slightest trace of Sherlock Holmes in him. Well, except the part where he could as a 2 year old spell peoples names.

After a great deal of effort making Sherlock eat the banana, John cleaned his tiny fingers and went through the bag for some other clothes or bodies for him to wear. There were a baby green body with a picture of a frog. John hold it up for a bit, noticing he had caught Sherlocks attention from the cubes and saw the fluffy monster of brown curls walk slowly to him.

"Ana?"

"You want to wear the green froggy body?"

"Anana? Maai!"

"Isn't anana the word for banana? Or was it ananana?"

"Ana!"

He stretched his arms out and tried to reach for Johns arm. John lowered his arm and Sherlock took hold of the arm and tried to climb with his feet on Johns thigh. He failed miserably, ending in him almost falling to the ground if John hadn't been fast enough.

"Bottle of milk then!"

He guided Sherlock to the blanket, letting the little crab take hold off the green fluffy frog and could hear him squeeze it while giggling. John came over with a bottle of milk, completely forgetting it would make him queasy. John then went over to make some breakfast for himself, toast with jam on. Oh dear God, there would be no weird things in the fridge for at least two weeks. He joyfully cheered for himself, listening to the happy sucking noises coming from Sherlock. He wondered if he would ever hear Sherlock suck on something else than a bottle(in the context of him being an adult, not a child!) and he had to chuckle. He had never heard Sherlock suck on anything the whole time they had been friends and flatmates and he guessed he never would. He hadn't noticed until now that the sucking noises of the bottle had stopped and before he could turn around he heard Sherlock cough followed by crying. Hadn't he promised Mycroft that he wouldn't make Sherlock throw up? John sighed and went over to the child. Sherlock hadn't had much in his belly but the banana didn't look quite that appealing at the moment as it had done when it went inside.

"Come here, you little crybaby. Shall we get you cleaned up, huh?"

He took a cloth and wiped the not-so-appealing-banana away from his tiny hands and stomach and decided he would clean the blanket a little later. First things first was Sherlock. The toddler continued to cry the whole time John cleaned him. Striping him naked and putting him in the bathtub, letting the water rinse his back, belly and legs. After the child was clean, John dried him up but Sherlock still screamed and cried. He wriggled and squirmed his way out of Johns hands and ran out in the living room and towards the door. Mrs. Hudson had heard the spectacle and opened the door the exact same moment Sherlock ran into her and squeezed her legs.

"Oh dear!"

"Mrs. Hudson! I'm sorry, you alright?"

"Oh, yes, I'm perfectly fine. I just heard the crying and thought you maybe needed a hand. Oh, dear you, is the Doctor not treating you alright?"

Sherlock nodded and sobbed. He wasn't screaming anymore and looked up at Mrs. Hudson with a sad face.

"Oh, Sherlock, come here!"

John was surprised she had recognized him and coughed. Mrs. Hudson simply ignored him and lifted up Sherlock and sat down on the couch, holding Sherlock tight on her lap.

"John, dear, do me a favor and get a nappy and a body for Sherlock, okay?"

"Of course."

John chuckled. The toddler had stiffened his cry completely and relaxed in to Mrs. Hudsons arms while she comforted him.

"Is this better? Oh, poor you."

She hugged him tight and looked around. There were no odd things on the kitchen table, no mess and it actually looked like an apartment.

"It's kinda weird looking at the flat now."

"I must say I agree. I'm so accustomed to Sherlocks mess that it's weird seeing the place clean. And thank for helping Anthea out!"

"Nothing to thank about. I understood when I saw the bundle of curls Mycroft was carrying that it had to be Sherlock. Why would he otherwise be so all over this place?"

"You're right. He takes his brother role really seriously."

"Of course! Look at him!"

She looked down on the toddler who were squeezing himself tightly onto Mrs. Hudsons chest. A slight shake were to be seen from the boy and John came over with a blanket to wrap around Sherlock.

"You're right. He is really charming and if that had been my brother, I would have done the same as Mycroft has been doing."

"Exactly!"

She looked down on the child tugging on her dress. She chuckled, making John chuckle too. They were abrupted by Sherlock coughing again, thought was only coughing this time. He wriggled and began making whiny sounds. Mrs. Hudson patted his back and John filled the bottle containing milk with water instead before giving it to Sherlock. The child gladly accepted and relaxed again. He leaned his head on Mrs. Hudson and had a really sad look across his face.

"Oh, poor you!"

Mrs. Hudson kissed Sherlocks head, who seemed to be just as indifferent as he had been before. She took the nappy John had got forth and dressed it on Sherlock. She also took the green body on him, making him slightly warmer and happier.

"Glee."

"Glee?"

"Glee."

"Okay, then glee it is."

The child seemed content with his current situation and closed his eyes, feeling sleep come and grab him.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thank you all for the kind words(both reviewers and others!) for expressing how much you like this fanfic! I was originally planning(when looking on how chapter 3 was) that I wouldn't write more since I thought it was just.. Horrible..

But alas, you've convinced me. I'll at least write one more chapter for you(and here it is!) which I dedicate to all of you who said it was cute! Heres for you, you jamming people!

As for Mrs. Hudsons first name, according to wikipedia, she has been identified as "Martha" in the books. I know I'm doing the BBC, but I'm going to stick with Martha anyway:

Chapter 4

Martha looked at the bundle of sleep at her lap. She took the bottle away from Sherlock and hugged him tightly.

"Didn't he get any sleep last night?"

"Oh, plenty. According to Mycroft Sherlock did sleep a lot as a toddler. Though he has slept a ridiculous amount the time he's been like this. I believe his body is responding to, well, his situation by sleeping. Though I would prefer it that he would EAT and sleep, not just sleep all the time."

"Oh. Oh, well. He can sleep just as much as he would like, can't you, hmm?"

She caressed his brown curls and the toddler began sucking his right thumb. He made some sweet babysounds and seemed to enjoy his dream.

"He's so sweet and lovable, isn't he, John?"

John chuckled while saying: "You're absolutely right. Though I would prefer him to suck on a teat rather than his thumb. I'm not quite sure wether he has been touching things he shouldn't touch(meaning Sherlock probably had experiments everywhere and John highly doubted that Anthea and Mrs. Hudson had manage to remove them all.) or something like that."

John went over to the bag Anthea had brought with her and took out a baby blue teat which he gave to Mrs. Hudson.

"Here you go, Mrs. Hudson, now take his thumb out, please?"

"Call me Martha, John. And yes, I'll do that."

John smiled while Martha replaced the thumb with the teat. Sherlocks tiny hand grabbed onto Marthas dress and held on. He seemed so utterly tiny when sitting on her lap like that.

John looked at the clock. 11:15. Meaning he would be asleep until 1 pm. He decided he would clean the blanket Sherlock had thrown up on and prepare some real food for him. Whilst doing this, Martha held Sherlock tightly and talked with John. The time passed quickly and Sherlock soon waked up. He looked around confused before looking directly at Mrs. Hudson.

"Finally awake, darling?"

sherlock responded with rubbing his eyes with clenched fists. He still looked a bit confused but was more satisfied when finding he had a teat in his mouth. Sherlock looked over at John before stretching his hand up. John obeyed and lifted Sherlock up. The small child leaned his eyes on Johns shoulder and closed his eyes.

"Still tired, little one? That's not good."

John checked Sherlocks forehead. The fever from last night was much more worse than it had been and John took out a clean bottle with some cold juice(A/N: Now I want juice_) and handed it to Sherlock. The child didn't want to hold it himself(no wonder, the bottle is cold!), so John held it for him.

"Look at you two! You really look like a father, John. You and Sherlock should get a child when he's back to normal so that he too can see you feeding a child. It's adorable!"

"Me and Sherlock will never ever have a child here, Mrs. Hudson. At least not while Sherlock is, well, Sherlock.(He stopped for a moment before realizing what she had said) And there's nothing between us! But if you want Sherlock to see, there's a camera in the kitchen. You could film it for him then."

They both chuckled. Martha went to the kitchen and got the camera as John had said, and started filming them. Sherlock just eyed Martha as she went to get the camera and seemed indifferent as long as John held him and feed him the bottle. John cradled Sherlock back and forth as the child seemed to enjoy it. Mrs. Hudson and John had to chuckle again when Sherlock sneezed though the child seemed to dislike it a lot. He pushed the bottle away making John almost losing it on the floor and began to cry. Martha stopped filming, got the bottle from John while John tried his best to comfort Sherlock by cradling him and caressing his back while singing a little song for him.

"Gay go up and gay go down To Ring the Bells of London Town "Oranges and Lemons" say the Bells of St. Clements "Bullseyes and Targets" say the Bells of St. Margaret's "Brickbats and Tiles" say the Bells of St. Giles

"Halfpence and Farthings" say the Bells of St. Martin's "Pancakes and Fritters" say the Bells of St. Peter's "Two Sticks and an Apple" say the Bells of Whitechapel "Maids in white aprons" say the Bells at St. Katherine's "Pokers and Tongs" say the Bells of St. John's "Kettles and Pans" say the Bells of St. Anne's "Old Father Baldpate" say the slow Bells of Adelgate "You owe me Ten Shillings" say the Bells of St. Helen's "When will you Pay me?" say the Bells of Old Bailey.

"When I grow Rich" say the Bells of Shoreditch.

"Pray when will that be?" say the Bells of Stepney. "I do not know" say the Great Bell of Bow Gay go up and gay go down To Ring the Bells of London Town"

Sherlock stopped crying and seemed to calm down though he kept sobbing. He was still very warm and didn't seem to be wanting to raise his head up.

"Oh, poor you. Shall we get you to bed, hmm?"

The child only nodded slightly before letting out a sob.

"Martha, would you just refill that bottle for me?"

"Of course, John. I would do anything for little Sherly here!"

"Mama!"

They both looked at Sherlock before letting out a small chuckle.

"Martha."

"Mama.."

"Martha. RTH.."

"Mama…"

She chuckled again. Sherlock buried his head in Johns shoulder and kept saying mama. Martha came back with a refilled bottle of water which she handed to John who began feeding it to Sherlock.

"You should eat something, tiny one."

He poked Sherlocks tummy and the child gave him an angry face. Instead of going to bed with him, John decided the best thing would be to make him eat something and not making him throw it up afterwards. John sat down with Sherlock on his lap taking an apple and asking Martha for a knife. He peeled the apple before slicing a piece of it off and handing it over to the boy. Sherlock seemed to eat it, though not fast and not swallowing it.

"Sherlock, you need to swallow!"

The boy shock his head before taking the piece of apple out of his mouth with his hand. He coughed again and his eyes teared up. He leaned his head on Johns chest, breathing a little harder. Mrs. Hudson sat down on the other side giving the bottle to Sherlock, which he gladly accepted. The child seemed exhausted even though he had been sleeping for two hours and he closed his eyes. Sherlock was an adorable toddler, much cuter than anyone John and Mrs. Hudson had seen throughout their lives and they had to smile.

"I'll put him to bed and let him sleep a bit. Maybe that will bring the fever down."

"Good idea, John. "

John carried Sherlock to the bedroom, putting him down and making sure he was alright. The child fell fast asleep at once and all John could hear was the heavy breathing the toddler now had. He went back outside where Mrs. Hudson stood.

"I'll go down to the clinic, getting some medicine I can use on him if he doesn't get any better. Do you mind watching him for 30 minutes time?"

"Oh, no not at all. John. Of course I'll watch over him. You just go and get it so that you can make him smile again, okay?"

"Thank you, Martha. You really are kind!"

They both smiled and John was off. Meanwhile Sherlock slept, John had gone to the clinic and gathered what he could need for Sherlock and also texted Mycroft. He'd mentioned his theory too, that the body was exhausted and tired over what had happened only days ago and that it was affecting him. Mycroft had texted back that he would come by later that evening, something John dreaded himself for. Sherlock woke up merely an hour after John had put him to bed and his condition had worsened. The child had a very runny nose and he was a lot warmer from before. He simply cried until he was out of breath and refused to both eat and drink. John kept holding him and cradling him back and forth while singing nursery rhymes. After an hour, Mycroft came and was rather concerned over his brother's well being. As John didn't want to push the bottle down the toddlers throat, Mycroft had no problem with it. The medicine had been mixed up with some juice which was the easiest way to get it inside of Sherlock. Mycroft sat down with the screaming child and showed the bottle in and squeezed it. The child immediately began kicking and waving his arms while refusing to swallow. Mycroft got covered with juice before he tried again. John helped holding Sherlock still while Mycroft gently squeezed the bottle. Again Sherlock tried his best but was not successful and had to swallow. While sucking at the bottle he was crying and he stopped waving and kicking, which made John feel utterly guilty. This must be the reason why parents always went to a doctor and made them fix it for them. He looked down on the bundle of curls and the sad eyes that looked up on him. Mycroft held an arm around Sherlock, keeping him still and hugged him close.

"Now there, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

The child looked at Mycroft with furious eyes that could burn through anything. That's the Sherlock they knew. Mycroft chuckled and caressed Sherlocks hair.

"Has he been eating anything?"

"No. Unless you consider the banana he threw up though.."

"Sherlock, would you like some food? Hmm?"

The child continued to look at Mycroft furiously and shock his head. Mycroft held the bottle pup for Sherlock until he had sucked up half the content. The child's face had some colour returning to him before starting to cry again.

"He should eat something, shouldn't he?"

"His throat is probably burning from the inside. I'll mixture up something with milk and honey,"

Mycroft only nodded and held the crying boy still on his lap. John came back with a cup filled with something looking like smashed potatoes. He took one spoonful to Sherlocks mouth. He refused, so John ate it himself, making the boy look furious on him. That was his! The toddler made some angry babysounds.

"I'm sorry, I don't speak baby."

John was teasing him and took another spoonful up to Sherlocks mouth. This time the boy took it from him, spilling half of it on Mycroft before eating the rest. When John noticed Mycrofts surprised face he only commented with that children tend to do such even though they're hurting since the "thing"(whatever it may be) was theirs, not anyone else.

"It just works, 'kay?"

Mycroft nodded again and they kept doing this until Sherlock had eaten half the content. The rest was smothered on Mycroft. The child seemed both more lively and tired at the same time.

"Should we just get you to bed, hmm?"

The child nodded and was lifted of Mycrofts lap into Johns hand. He winked goodbye to Mycroft before he fell asleep on Johns shoulder. John put him in his bed before returning to Mycroft.

"I'll go down to the clinic tomorrow to scan his organs, just to check that everything is okay. Considering the circumstances, you know."

"Yes, I know. I'll accompany you and we'll go to the hospital. Thinking the clinic doesn't have everything needed, or does it?"

"IT do actually have a great lot, but the hospital has bigger machines, so yeah. Sounds good. I'll text you tomorrow when we'll leave."

"Fine. talk to you later!"

Mycroft left and John began to tidy everything. He felt tired after today even though he hadn't done anything more than looking after a sick Sherlock. It would be good with a good nights sleep. Oh, how he didn't know he'd be spending the night cradling Sherlock as he would cry all night.

A/N: Any reviews are accepted:

I know this is utterly silly and I don't know ANYTHING about toddlers/babies except that they are extremely annoying when just crying and you don't know what's wrong. Or something^^


	5. Chapter 5

AN: I 'm sorry!

Time flew by and suddenly I totally forgot to write and continue this fanfiction! So so sorry! But here's chapter five and I'll try my very very best to get chapter 6 up and go in no time!

For the influenza thing, I ACTUALLY HAVE A SOURCE FOR IT! .

And yes, the puns here are intended. And yes, I'm a Doctor Who fan.

Reviews are very appreciated!

Chapter 5

Mycroft went up the squeaky stairs he had walked up so many times before. Always when his brother was in need of him(Mycroft would never admit it being the opposite), even though Sherlock would never admit to that. This time was no different. How the heck had Sherlock manage to get in to that machine was something Mycroft still hadn't figured out. His baby brother, literally, had managed to become a 20 months old child. It was a lot easier handling him this way, since if he ever did anything wrong or dangerous, it would just be to pick him up and that was that. He kinda liked the idea of Sherlock as a little baby. He was bound to be like everyone else now, something he knew Sherlock had wanted as a child. To not be cursed with seeing everything and nothing at the same time. Not understanding the emotions of man or woman and actually be able to have friends.

Mycroft opened the door and his mouth dropped by what he saw. John stood with his back to Mycroft, shirtless, with a towel over one of his shoulders, holding a small pile of what seemed to be Sherlock. The boy was stripped down to his nappy, looked completely limp through the whole body with drool from his mouth. John was cradling the child back and forth and he looked very tired.

"What happened?"

Mycroft almost ran over and was almost nose to nose with the child before John had turned around.

"He's sick. He's been throwing up all night and can't hold anything down, not even water. His body is burning up too. I suspect he has some kind of influenza, but I can't be hundred percent sure unless I test him for it."

After John had said that to a frightened Mycroft, it was almost as if commanded too, Sherlock began coughing. John quickly took a corner from the towel hanging from his shoulder and began wiping Sherlocks mouth. Mycroft noticed that what he had thought was drool wasn't drool at all. It was something white ish, a little thicker than what drool on a kid would look like.

"Is that.. Puke?"

He pointed at the boy.

"I wouldn't say puke, but yes. It's "puke.""

"Ew."

"Seriously, Mycroft?

"Yes. Now, should we go down to the clinic or hospital or something so that you can make him alright?"

"Let me please just change clothes first. And I'll need to dress Sherlock too. Here, hold him for a bit, ok?"

John handed Mycroft the child who put on a frown. He didn't like being moved apparently. Mycroft took the towel and kid to Sherlocks chair, and cradled the child as he sat on his knee. The child coughed again and before Mycroft could prevent it, the whiteness stained his dress jacket.

"Ew, Sherlock."

The child stopped coughing and the frown turned into a cry. John came running downstairs, putting on a new sweater and walked right to Sherlock, lifting him up and cradling him again.

"You're the worst babysitter ever, Mycroft."

"For your information, I took care of that child in our younger days and he turned out just fine!"

"I can see that.."

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all.."

John turned to the baby again. The child didn't have the energy to even cry and just sat limp in Johns arms.

"You can't get a wagon, do you?"

"A wagon? I can make someone bring one over, but that will take at least 15 minutes."

"That's perfect!"

Mycroft sighed and took up his cellphone, calling a number and asked for a wagon for a baby at once to be brought here. John put Sherlock down on the couch and began changing his nappy. He put on a new body with a giraffe on this time and put on socks and other things to keep the child warm when they came out. Even though it was just late august and it was kind of warm, it was too cold for a child and especially a sick child. The child laid completely limp on the couch and only looked pleadingly over to Mycroft. Mycroft sighed, lurked to him and lifted him from the couch. Once up and safe in Mycrofts arm, the child coughed again, covering Mycrofts shoulder in white goo.

"Ew."

John chuckled before a knock on the door interrupted them. Mrs. Hudson stood there, saying there was a wagon downstairs. John lifted Sherlock out from Mycrofts arm and went downstairs. He tucked Sherlock in under a blanket and made sure he wouldn't freeze.

"Thanks for telling us. We'll be off to the hospital now and, well, make Sherlock healthy again."

"Good luck then boys!"

Mycroft wasn't smiling. Mycroft took the wagon from John and lifted it down the small stairs and out in the street. He began walking and pushing the wagon. It wouldn't take long before the two men were at the hospital and Mycroft went over to talk to someone. Not long after they were guided into a room where John could do freely what he wanted.

"Enough beeping machines?"

"Yes, quite enough Mycroft."

John took Sherlock, who had fallen asleep, out from the wagon and sat him down on the patient bed. He began examining him and did all kinds of weirdly wibbly wobbly stuff. After a long while and some tests taken, John seemed pleased and put Sherlock on Mycrofts lap. He'd been reading and was taken by surprise at first but held him close. John went out of the room, leaving Mycroft a little baffled. Did he just leave? Sherlock, after being poked by John and woken up by that(grumpy little fellow), sat with a frown, looking up at Mycroft.

"What's with that frown?"

"Owie!"

"Owie? Where?"

"Owie!"

Mycroft sighed. The boy was touching his throat, which were the only please Mycroft couldn't blow.

"Wants some milk?"

The boy just kept looking up at Mycroft with pleading eyes, a frown and lips uttering the word "owie". Mycroft opened the bag John had insisted on having, filled with baby supplies and took out a bottle with water.

"This will do, won't it?"

He smiled and he made Sherlock aware of the bottle. The child opened his mouth and Mycroft squeezed the teat part of the bottle into the boys mouth. He sucked eagerly.

"Now, the only question is if you're able to hold it down this time!"

"He should."

Mycroft looked up. John had come back.

"I was just at the pharmacy, buying some antibiotic for him. He should become completely healthy now."

"Good."

The small bundle of curls looked up at them.

"I'll take him home to my place now, John. Thank you for all that you've done."

"What..?"

"I'm taking him home. He got ill while being at your place and I want to have him at my place now."

"Why..? And he probably got ill by all the traveling. And you said it yourself that he would most likely want to be in the flat!"

"Well, he's a baby so he doesn't mind wherever he is."

"A toddler."

"Fine, a toddler! The main case is that I'm taking him home."

"Fine, you twat!"

John went home alone, leaving Mycroft with the child. God, Mycroft was an idiot


	6. Chapter 6

**AN:**

**Thanks all for the continued reviews/favs/follows/smileymessages! I know my grammar in the previous ones are bad and they're all written fairly bad. Like, really bad actually..**

**I'm sorry for this long overdue chapter, but I've had major problems writing out this chapter and thing is, I lost some interest in it too.. I will continue though, for as long as people actually will have me to(or write out the plot at least..). The updates won't come once a month as they usually did(mainly because I keep forgetting) and because I've begun a new school and it takes so much energy from me!**

**But seriously guys, I really appreciate you reading this and all! Thank you!**

**Reviews are appreciated!**

It would go a full week before Johns phone would buzz again. It had truly annoyed him, what Mycroft had done. Making John first take care for the child and at the first sign of the child being anything than healthy and happy, he'd take him away. Not letting him even do his job that was handed to him.

"Come quickly.

MH"

John looked down at the display. He could feel the annoyance coming from within. He sighed and closed his eyes, listening to the silence in the flat. He sighed again and admitted to himself as he opened his eyes again, it was too quiet. And he was bored. For two days, he'd been without the complaint from a certain someone, didn't need to find bodyparts at varying places in the kitchen. The milk didn't run out and the sulking figure that would usually shot at the wall was nowhere to be seen or heard. He didn't need to take a taxi halfway across London to send text messages or lending his phone out. He didn't hear the occasionally deducement about where he had been, who he'd met or was going to meet. And specially he hadn't been dragged to some mysterious place for Mycroft to ask him questions about his own baby brother.

He had to admit though, he did miss it. If only a tiny bit, he did miss it.

He sighed and texted back. Rather than getting a text back, he could hear Mrs. Hudson come up a few minutes later, saying something about a black car waiting for him at the entrance. He sighed again. These melodramatic boys.

He had been given a week of from the Holmes' brothers, why did Mycroft need his help now? Multiple scenarios dibbled up in John's mind. Though the drive wasn't long was enough time to think out multiple scenarios in which he would have to help Mycroft dispose of a dead body. He sighed even more.

The car pulled up in front of an old english looking house. The gates were big and of black iron. Intimidating for everyone walking past. the house was made out of bricks in an orange kind of color, with hurdles all over.

Anthea stood in the doorway, waiting for John.

"Is everything ok, Anthea?"

"Sherlock is being a tad difficult. Mycroft thought it was best if you talked to him."

"A tad difficult? Please explain."

Anthea looked at him with a smile on her face. Why tell when he could see it for himself, was something John though she would say. But rather than saying anything, she just led the way. It was a very big house on the inside, and a tad old fashioned styled as well. As he was led down a long corridor, with a simple cream colored tapestry, he noticed there weren't a single picture hung up on the wall. there were the occasional door leading to some other secret room with numbers on them, but other than that, there were nothing there.

"He is remembering."

John looked at Antheas backhead, a bit taken back over her actually saying the problem for once.

"Remembering?"

"Yes, you know, he remembers his whole life."

"Rem- Oh…"

John stopped for a minute. This was bad. This was really bad.

"Uhm, ok.. Eh, how is he, eh, taking it?"

"Oh, not as good as anticipated."

"Not as good as anticipated? Seriously? He suddenly wakes up and finds himself in the body of a 20 month year old boy and you expect him to take it fine?"

"Not fine, just not that bad."

John sighed. He was surrounded by smart idiots. They reached the end of a hallway and Anthea opened a door, revealing the sound of the two Holmes brothers arguing. Mycroft was sitting in a chair by a couch, legs crossed as always.

He had his occasional smirk, the umbrella placed well beside him and his eyes disturbingly placed on Sherlock.

Sherlock, on the other hand, was sitting on the couch, dressed up in a full bodysuit with the appearance of a frog. John also noticed there were a blanket by his side, tons of pillows and a heck lot of toys around the room. This room was also without any pictures in it, though there were a tiny table placed against a wall with a vase filled with some flowers. John moved his eyes back to Sherlock and noticed the green frog teddy sitting awkwardly on a pillow beside him.

Sherlock locked his eyes on John the moment the door opened and yelled out.

"JOHN CAN TAKE CARE OF ME!"

"So you want to push that assignment over onto him?"

"If that's what it takes to get away, then yes!"

Mycroft sighed. It was obvious they had been arguing a while now.

"You are being irrational, Sherlock."

"NO!"

"Yes."

"No! Nononono!"

"You are."

Sherlock looked pleadingly over to John. John turned to Mycroft.

"What is the problem here?"

"As you can see here, Sherlock is having a tantrum."

"NO, I'M NOT!"

"Yes you are, Sherlock."

They glared at each other for a second.

"He wants to work on the machine to get it done quickly. He also wants to go back to your flat. He's being irrational."

"I am not being that!"

"Irrational? Oh, but you are, Baby brother."

He amplified the last two words.

"No, I'm not being irratiolal!"

"It's called irratioNal, and no is now the most favorite word, apparently."

Sherlock glared at Mycroft and his eyes began watering up.

"I can take him to the flat if that's what he wishes for?"

"Really?"

Sherlocks eyes widened and the frown was gone.

"Then you can take care of him then? Watching out so that he doesn't light anything on fire, for example?"

"Yes, Mycroft. I' can actually take care of a toddler."

"Hey!"

Both John and Mycroft rolled their eyes at the last no. But before anything was said, the small toddler wriggled down from the couch, landing on his feet before falling over. The three adults kept an eye on the child before he jerked his head up, still preowned with a frown on it.

"Hmpf!"

He went quietly alongside John out to the car, refusing to wear the shoes Anthea gave him. He pouted as soon as John helped him inside the car and sulked over hearing the demands of staying safe within the flat from Mycroft. No wandering of on his own, no working on the machine and definitely, NO RUNNING AROUND LONDON SOLVING CRIMES.

"I WILL BE SOOOO BOOOREEED!"

But after hearing the reprimand once more from both Mycroft AND John, he kept quiet and sulked alone. As soon as they arrived at the flat, Sherlock was met with a smiling Mrs. Hudson who apparently was the only one allowed to comment about the state he was in. She led him upstairs and safely into bed where he kept for the rest of the day, pouting and sulking.

"Back to normal again, huh."

John huffed. He managed somehow to reassure Mrs. Hudson that he would be able to care for Sherlock, even though that was what he actually did on a daily basis, it seemed he needed to tell everyone he was qualified to care for Sherlock as a toddler as well. After everything, he sighed again, making sure he locked the door out, putting a chair in front of it as well thinking it would at least slow down the kid if he tried to escape through the night. He looked in at Sherlocks room to check up on him, only to finding him fast asleep in his own bed. John carefully wrapped the child in, putting the frog awkwardly on the pillow next to him and turned of the light. This, he thought, would be some interesting days ahead of them. Not only for him, but for the both of them.


	7. Chapter 7

John woke up to the sound of someone hammering their fists at a door. It wasn't a real big hammering sound, more like, tiny tiny fists with the occasional yelling sound of "open the door!". "Oh. I forgot to open the door." John thought for himself. While rubbing sleep of his face he strove the few paces over to Sherlocks door, letting the small child out. He was met with a frown.

"If you tell it to Mycroft, I swear I will ruin your life!"

John let a small smile glide onto his lips.

"Yeah, sure, Sherlock. You hungry?"

"No. But I'm bored. Give me a case!"

"Eh, you can't exactly run around London as a toddler, Sherlock. I mean-"

"I know what you mean, but I AM BORED JOHN! Give me a case or better yet, a cigarette!"

"NO! I am NOT giving you anything like that! Sherlock, do you even see what state you're in? You remember when you had a cold and thought you were dying and made a big fuzz out of that? That's NOTHING compared to this! I mean, you ARE a genius, right?"

"Yes. But my vitals are all functioning well. All that is different is that my body is not that well developed."

"Well developed? You are freaking toddler, Sherlock. Have you maybe looked at yourself in the mirror? Oh wait, you're not tall enough.."

This earned him a glare. Even tough the glare was all too Sherlock, John couldn't see pass the toddler.

"Let's get you something to eat now, shall we?"

"As I said, I'm no-"

Before he could even finish his sentence, John picked him up and placed him on a chair. He immediately began twiddling his arms and legs hoping for John to release him. That he did, on a chair.

"Hmpf!"

John just rolled his eyes.

"Now, what do your Majesty want for breakfast?"

"As I stated before, I'm no-"

"Not hungry, yeah. I got that. But still, you need to eat. You can't just go as your usual self, not eating days at end. So, what do you want to eat, Sherlock?"

Just a glare. John frowned. Asking again and this time setting his eyes onto him.

"Juice. Is that okay?"

"That's not food, but it's a start."

He got a glass and filled it with juice(surprisingly they actually had juice in the fridge!) before handing it to Sherlock. He only filled it half full, sensing the kid would spill it. That earned him yet another glare.

"Drink. Now!"

Reluctantly, he obliged. He managed to drink it all without spilling, to Johns surprise.

"Happy?"

"Very. Now, food?"

"No. I am not hu-"

"Hungry, right. I'll give you one hour, okay? After that, food."

"Fine."

He wriggled his way down the chair before walking into the living room, with John right behind him. He stopped for a second, probably looking for something to preoccupy his mind with, before settling on the desk with his laptop on. He pushed the chair out and gave it his best on trying to wedging himself on top of it. One thing though, that he hadn't seen coming was that the extra weight he gave the chairs right side was enough to make it tip over. Luckily for him, John was fast enough to catch the top of the chair before it tipped all over, sending little Sherlock on the floor. He wriggled onto it, turned around and gave John his 'look I managed it on my own even though I could see the doubt in your eyes'- kind of smile. And then, another problem rose. His arms weren't long enough to open the laptop when he was sitting down. Reluctantly, he got up his feet on the chair and forced the laptop open. Sensing he couldn't be bothered to stand the whole time, he pushed the laptop inwards on the desk and wriggled his way onto a seating position on the desk. There he was occupied the whole hour John had given him.

"Now, Sherlock, food. What do you want?"

"Not hungry."

"As I said, I would give you an hour and after that food!"

"Well, I'm still not particularly hungry, so pass."

John frowned. What was this brat thinking about himself?

"Sherlock, food. NOW!"

He strove over to the laptop where Sherlock was twiddling his fingers. He pushed it down and with swift movements, picked Sherlock up in his arms. Sherlock immediately began protesting. John tightened his grip on him.

"You are going to eat something if you want to get out of my grip. If not, I'm going to hold you here until you do!"

Sherlock crossed his tiny arms before a surprised look came over him.

"I... "

"What?"

"I have a very small bladder and you're holding me very tight, John."

John sighed. And went towards the bathroom. Though he wasn't fast enough apparently and soon both of them needed a change. Sherlocks face reddened. It hadn't been his plan for it to happen and John couldn't blame him for it. He let the kid go before taking of his own shirt. Sherlock stood there quite uncomfortable, with flushed cheeks. He looked at the elder man changing and taking a cloth under the spring to make it wet. He was happy that indeed his bladder was quite (quite) small, so there wasn't awfully lot. More like a tiny spilt bottle. Or something like that. After making himself okay, he turned to Sherlock who where still just standing there uncomfortable with flushed cheeks. He didn't quite know where to look now as john was looking straight at him.

"It's okay, Sherlock. Your body has changed, you can't have control over everything that happens."

He still just stood there with equally flushed cheeks. John sighed and went over to the kid. He strapped the kid of his body and pants before taking the wet cloth over the exposed areas. Sherlock was even more uncomfortable now than before and truly did not know where to look. When finished, John went to look for something to dress him in. Sherlock reluctantly walked slowly after him. In the bag Anthea had once brought him, he fished up the last clothing in there, another bodysuit. This one with a bear on it. Sherlock sighed. Another clothing with an animal on it, just great.

"Now, before I take this on you, do I need to put a nappy on you first?"

"What? NO!"

Sherlocks face changed to angry. He glared (yet again!) on John.

"Ok. Now, do you need help pu-"

"No I do not!"

He snatched the clothing from John before attempt number one on putting on a bodysuit started. He forcefully stuffed both his feet into it before pulling it upwards. But now the difficulty started. He hold the body on the front section and therefore wriggling his arms in strove to be off great difficulty. John sighing, took one of Sherlocks arms and pulled it firmly into the body. The child wriggled and was left to do the other arm himself. Now what was left was buttoning the front. John got up and went over to the kitchen to make some breakfast. While he decided on making some sandwiches for them both, Sherlock was still twiddling his fingers with the buttons. John finished the sandwiches, put them on the table before irritated pushed Sherlocks fingers away and buttoned the bodysuit for him. He then lifted the little one onto the chair.

"Eat."

Sherlock looked at his sandwich. John had cut it in half.

"Do you need help?"

"No."

He seemed annoyed. And frustrated really. The rest of the day went on with this. Sherlock refusing assistance and neglected both food and nap time, to Johns frustration. He refused help on anything from getting up and down chairs and the couch to help in the bathroom and taking things down from selves. All too often it ended with Sherlock earning himself a scratch or a bruise. Sherlocks frustration grew with the realization of his body's limitations. He was more affected by the transformation than he let by to John. When the evening came, John managed to forcefully get Sherlock to eat something. But just a spoonful of the soup he made. He called Mycroft to see if there were any progress. There weren't. He then went on to see if there were any cases they could solve from this room. There were none. At least none that he could see. He sighed again. He turned on the television but there were nothing really on it. He stole some quick glances over at Sherlock sitting on the desk, twiddling his fingers on his laptop. He looked tired. He let out a groan.

"It doesn't add up!"

"What doesn't add up?"

"The calculations! I calculated what energy it would take to power up the machine and how to reverse it. But it doesn't make any sense!"

"It might not add up because you lack the energy to make sense out of it?"

"What?"

"Sherlock, you have almost not eaten or had anything to drink all day. Plus,your body needs more rest now than before. Don't forget that. So, I suggests that you now eat and drink something before going to bed."

"I need to do the calculations over again, John. I need them to be right!"

"I think your brother might do the same. And he's at 100%. You're not."

"The only thing that's changed is my physical state, John."

"Really? So nothing else have changed? Like, you haven't lost the ability to clothe yourself? Or hold your bladder?"

"I.. "

He stopped and his cheeks flushed again.

"Why did you have to bring it up?"

John sighed.

"Sherlock, I didn't mean to-"

"I know I'm a bit.. Different. I am well aware of that fact. I am actually so aware that I'll do as you said and go to bed!"

John could see the irritation in Sherlock had reached a high point. He was like a small child missing his nap time and was therefore cranky the rest off the day. He got up but didn't want to further irritate Sherlock and refrained from the urge of picking him up. He couldn't help it. All he now could see was a small child he needed to protect, even if the one he needed to protect him from was Sherlock himself. Sherlock wriggled down from the desk onto the chair, and from there onto the floor. He puffed his breath as he walked very slowly towards his room. John followed suit and observed Sherlock as he walked. He was quite frankly tiny. He yawned, when into his room and tried to wriggle his way into bed. John gave him a tiny push on his tushie so that Sherlock landed in bed. He wriggled a bit before facing the pillows.

"Sure you don't want something to drink? Or pee? Or food?"

"Juice. And no and no."

"Juice. Ok, I'll get you a bottle."

"Bottle? John, wait! What do you mean by a bottle? John? Hey, come back here! John!? Joooohn? You.. What did you mean by a bottle?"

"A bottle, Sherlock. This."

He handed Sherlock a baby bottle. He looked at it skeptical. With the way he sat, the body, the bottle and his skeptical face, he truly did look like a genuine baby. And not like Sherlock usually looked. He looked up at John with a 'what am I supposed to do with this?' look on his face.

"Drink up. Or not. You can't spill with a bottle in bed, Sherlock. And if you wake up feeling thirsty, it's there. Sure you don't need to pee? I am not going to clean up after you every time you have an accident just so you know."

"No. And I'm not going to have any accidents. Do you like bringing that up?"

"What? No. And I'm only bringing it up because I don't want to have to clean up pee from everything you have, Sherlock."

Sherlock let that slide and put the bottle firmly down next to the frog sitting on the pillow next to him. He snuggled down under the blanket and looked up at John.

"Why are you still here?"

"Just waiting for your majesty to dismiss me, that's all."

He said it with a smirk on the end. He couldn't be sure if Sherlock was trying to give him a look or not but the child didn't answer back and shut his eyes and went fast to sleep. John stood there a few minutes just looking at him. He sighed and went to clean up their clothes. He tried calling Mycroft again but didn't get any answer. He sighed for the trillionth time that day before calling it a night. He watched the news on the telly and then hitting the bed. It had been a long and uncomfortable day.


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock woke up feeling groggy. He tried to rub sleep of his face but to no use. He looked around the room. He could see the sun peek from behind the curtains, so it was day. Or something. He rubbed his face again but with still no use of it. He looked at the pillow next to him. The frog and bottle still stood as he had left them the night before.

"John?"

His voice felt groggy as well. He called again but louder this time. He could hear the thumping noise of Johns feet coming to his room. The door opened and John walked in. Sherlocks face looked all sleepy with hair peering into all different directions.

"Slept well?"

"Meh.."

He rubbed his face for the third time and felt slightly more awake this time.

"All went well?"

"What do you mean? The bottle is still here, I didn't fall out of bed.. "

"Good, good. Want breakfast?"

"Eh, no?"

He looked with a worrying look up at John.

"Fine!"

Sherlock wriggled the blanket off to reveal a wet area. Cheeks flushed, he pulled the blanket up again before casting a quick glance over at John. John sighed and went out of the room. Sherlock just waited until John returned. It didn't take long before the elder man was back with a new set of clothing and something else that looked too much like a nappy in Sherlocks eyes.

"Wait, no! I'm awake now! I can control my body now! I will NOT wear that!"

"Sherlock, I have absolutely NO desire in cleaning up after you so you put this on, now Sherlock."

"I refuse."

"Well, then I'm just going to force it on you."

"Then I'll just take if off!"

"Then I'll force it on you again."

"And I will take it off!"

John sighed. They could argue like this for hours at end with no result. Of course this was to happen, he was babysitting Sherlock of all people! Nonetheless, he lifted the child out of bed and onto the floor where he just stood quite uncomfortable, still with red cheeks.

"Undress, now."

He obliged to it. Happy to get away from John. He could see the disappointment in his eyes as he walked away. He left John to deal with the mess and began twiddling with the buttons again. Why was it so damn hard to do the buttons on this bodysuit? Was it childproof or something? Did you need the force of a grown man to open these? Thoughts like this ran through his tiny head until John appeared behind him as he was putting away the exposed sheet.

"Need help with the buttons?"

Sherlock mumbled something along the lines of that you needed a lions power to be able to open the body up. John quickly opened the body and help the tiny body out of it. He looked, to be frankly, way to thin for a child his age. This worried John. The small child complied to everything John dotted him to do. Lifting feet, moving there and here, turning around and back again. John noticed that the child's eyes bluntly avoided looking into his and the reddened cheeks.

"All clean! Now, where did you put the clothes I gave you?"

Sherlock pointed and John picked it up. He sighed. Preparing his mental self for another fight. He took the nappy and bent down in front of Sherlock. He took the child's left leg and pushed it into the left hole of the nappy. He could feel the child trying to pull it out again and so the fight was on. John hardened his grip on him and Sherlock wriggled more. This back and forth going went on for a while until Sherlock, becoming more cranky, sat down on the bathroom floor, making it quite easy for John to push the second foot into the second hole. With swift movements, he picked the child up from the floor and went to just slide the nappy on. That proved to be more difficult than he had thought. As he lifted Sherlock up, Sherlock managed to wriggle his feet out and kicked the nappy away. John was still holding the naked, wriggling child as his eyes followed the nappy.

"Now, Sherlock, why did you do that?"

"I don't want it on me! I said that before, didn't I? It's not like I'm going to pee myself when I'm awake!"

Reluctantly, John let go. Little, naked Sherlock immediately ran out of the bathroom to get away from John before he changed his mind. He had a tendency to do that. John sighed and followed, body in one hand and nappy in the other. Sherlock was sitting quite comfortable in his armchair with a pillow nestled over his lap.

"Breakfast yes?"

He said quickly sensing that John might change his mind. John put away all that he was holding and began cooking something up.

"I want scrambled eggs!"

"Okay.."

"And juice!"

"You know that too much juice isn't good for your teeth, right?"

"Yes, but you'll still give it to me."

Now, that was true. Sherlocks reward for eating actual breakfast would be that. It took a few minutes cooking it all up while in the meantime, Sherlocks eyes gazed out over the kitchen. It was like he was in deep thoughts. Presumably about how to change back and getting John off his back as he was now. Nanny Jam. It would be a good nickname for him.

"Breakfast ready, Sherlock."

Disruptively bringing him back from his thoughts, Sherlock wriggled off the chair, dropping the pillow and just sprawled around naked. He let John pick him up and onto the chair, not giving any blank arse about Sherlock being naked. He picked up his fork and began eating the eggs. Seeing him sitting there naked, eating quite warm eggs, made him a bit uneasy at his seat. After he had seen Sherlock spilling eggs and (fortunately) not hitting himself, he got up on his feet, lifted Sherlock up on the table (despite the protests) and forced the body on him. He put him down again, went back to his seat and began eating his own eggs. This earned him quite a puzzled look from Sherlock, who's hair once again stood in all different directions. Slowly, he picked up his fork and started eating again. If he spilt any eggs now, it would at least not hit direct skin.

From there on the day went on with unease. John using force if he needed Sherlock to do anything and Sherlock wriggling and protesting every time.

It went on like this until there was a knock on the door and Mrs. Hudson came on in.

"I heard such ruckuss up here, so I thought I'd come up and hear if everything's alright?"

"Oh, yes, Mrs. Hudson. Everythings completely fine. Sherlock is just having a bit of a tantrum over here."

"Oh, I see then. Do you need my help, John dearest?"

"Heh, I think I can handle it myself, but thanks for the offering anyway!"

"Okay then. Goodbye Sherlock!"

She waved at the screaming child that was running away from John. He had found out that screaming was a very useful seeing it annoyed the crap out of John and gave him attention straight away. But unfortunately, he wasn't quick enough on his feet and suddenly, two warm big hands placed on each of his sides and he could no longer feel the floor under his feet. But he could feel the warmth of John on his back, the shifting of hands so one held him under the arms and the other under his there any point in trying to wriggle himself out of this situation? No, but he wriggled anyway.

"Sh, Sherlock. Sh. Calm down. You'll fell a lot better if you just take a nap. It's prescription from the Doctor, Sherlock! Do as your Doctor tells you to do!"

Between the wriggles, he said 'no no' over and over and occasionally the 'I need to woooork!'. But he calmed down though, much for the lack of energy in his body. He could feel Johns hands caressing him. John shifted Sherlocks position, so that instead his belly was now getting the warmth from his body. It was easier holding him this way too. He caressed Sherlocks back and soon enough, the toddler fell asleep. John didn't dare putting him down and just held him.

When Sherlock woke up, he was no longer in Johns hands, but in Mycrofts lap. The explanation? John had convinced Mycroft that holding Sherlock felt quite nice. The toddler didn't agree. The two brothers quickly let go of one another, Mycroft putting Sherlock back on Johns lap. The child rubbed his face but didn't let Mycroft get out of his vision.

"Why are you here?"

"To check how you're doing, baby brother."

"I'm fine. So go away."

"Sherlock, don't you want to hear progress about the machine? or do you feel content being a toddler, sitting in Johns lap?"

Both Sherlock and John frowned upon this. Mycroft sighed.

"It's going quite well for the moment. And now you know too. We've made all calculations and are trying to reverse it now. It's... Promising."

"In other words, failing."

"I wouldn't put it like that, but then again, I don't need to."

Sherlock glared at him.

"Okay, now then. you've said all you came for, didn't you?"

"Oh, no. Not quite. All I'm missing is-" He took forth his phone and took a photo of Sherlock "- there! All done, diaper boy!"

"Diaper boy? What do you-"

It hit him. He looked down and saw what he feared. He was in a nappy.

"You did say you could control yourself when awake, but you've been sleeping for over an hour. I didn't want to wash more because of your accidents, Sherlock."

The child glared at him. He then proceeded to wriggle his way of Johns lap.

Mycroft was silently laughing for himself. He was sending a text. But, to whom?

"There! My work is done and I can go back to my work!"

"Hey! Who did you send the text too? WHO?"

"Like I'll just say so. Deduce it, baby brother."

"Gavin?"

"Gavin? Who's Gavin?"

"Lestrade? Gavin Lestrade?"

"It's Greg!"

Both Mycroft and John said it at the same time.

"No, not him. But then wh- Oh..."

It dawned upon him who. Their parents. Mama Holmes and Papa Holmes. Sherlock shot Mycroft a glare. How dared he do that?

"Out."

Sherlock pointed at the door for Mycroft. Mycroft sighed and obliged to his younger brother request. Sherlock then turned to John. He stood there, staring at him, making John feel a bit uncomfortable really.

"What's wr-"

"What's wrong? WHAT'S WRONG? YOU PUT A NAPPY ON ME, JOHN! THAT'S WHAT'S WRONG!"

"I don't see why you get so irrational about it. Now you don't have to think about that and can concentrate on other things."

"What other things?"

"Like doing the calculations for the machine or whatever."

"I can think about many things at the same time. I don't have a wastefully empty brain like you."

He spit out the last words. John could see he had in some weird way gotten Sherlock to feel out of control for his own body. They both knew it though, that Sherlock was losing grip of it. The changes done to him was bound to affect something, and apparently the control of the body was the first thing to go. John thought that as long as Sherlock had his mind at least, the ability to talk all the nonsense he usually spit out, that he would be fine. Had he been wrong?

"Sherlock.."

John started but didn't know what to say. The child's eyes seemed to be filled with water.

"It's okay. With the changes done, something were bound to be affected. Don't you think so?"

"No."

"So you thought you could be the same person you usually are? Thinking you're both pre-puberty and pre-everything?"

Sherlock grew quiet. He knew that John knew. That he wasn't in control of things happening. That he more often felt hungry and thirsty. That he was in need of sleep. All these things, mere physical. As long as John didn't know what was going on in his head, he'd be more safe. Or that was what he thought. He stood there thinking, eyes looking down on the floor. Making him look like a tiny child that'd done something wrong. John bent down, so he got more in Sherlocks eyesight.

"It's okay, Sherlock. That's why I'm here, you know."

Johns comforting voice, his hands on Sherlocks arms, made the child look up at him. The water in his eyes were gone and he let John pull him closer. John picked him up, held him as close as he could, imagining that Sherlock would feel safe in his arms. And he did, really. That was something he would never tell anyone. Something he would hide far far away in his mind palace. The comfort of John holding him in his arms. His warmth on Sherlocks whole body. The caressing arm on his back. He wished they could have stayed like that forever, with his mind at peace. But alas, they didn't.

"Hungry?"

"Mhm."

Sherlock still clung to John. He didn't want to be put down. Neither did John want to put him down. He liked holding the little fellow. But it would be difficult holding him whilst making food though. He put Sherlock down in his arm chair, to both of theirs disappointment. Food was made and eaten(at least some of it) and the rest of the day went by to Sherlocks ruckuss. Moving things, trying to play his violin(to his great disappointment, he couldn't) and settle on watching crappy television. Before he knew it, John lifted him up saying it was bed time. John changed him (the child's cheek still flushed red whenever this happened), brushed his teeth and put him in bed. Sherlocks eyes looked keenly at John and his every movement.

"Are you okay? Not thirsty or anything?"

"Hmm... No."

Sherlocks eyes darted him. What he truly wanted was for John to lie down next to him. Partly because the bed was cold, he was cold and everything were cold. But also because he liked the comfort John gave him. But he didn't ask. How could he ask? John would probably just laugh at him, or worse, pity him. Pity the toddler that doesn't want to sleep alone. Earlier that day, Sherlock had found Mycrofts 'little black book'. The handwriting of a 7-year old Mycroft that couldn't be mistaken for someone else's. Apparently, when he was this age, he'd usually crept silently into Mycrofts bed more than often. Had John read that, he wondered. But before anything more was said, the lights were out and the door closed. Sherlock hadn't even heard John saying goodnight. The darkness amplified the cold and Sherlock wriggled a bit under his blanket. It was of no use. It was too cold.

"John?"

It didn't take long before the door was opened and the room was yet again filled with light.

"It's cold."

His big eyes met Johns smiling face. He chuckled.

"Do you want me to get you a heating pad?"

"Hmm.. Or.. You sleep next to me?"

Johns chuckles went away and concern grew instead. Sherlock regretted saying anything. John sighed.

"Sherlock.."

He began, not sure how to phrase it.

"Nevermind. Get a heating pad."

John looked at him with concern. Sherlock said it again and John got one. He put it under Sherlocks blanket, looking at the big baby in front of him. Maybe he should just do it? Naah. He closed the door when seeing Sherlock satisfied with something warm by his feet. He was fast asleep. John on the other hand, wasn't. He lay awake, thinking about the pros and cons of Sherlock staying how he was. There were more cons than pros and with concern all over his mind, he got a troubled sleep.


End file.
